


The Worst Day You've Had Recently

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied Mpreg, Impregnation, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oviparous Trolls, Oviposition, general consent issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are absolutely brimming. </p><p>Brimming with what, you're not sure. It feels like everything. You're overflowing, your whole body is filled to the very very top with everything all at once. Nothing more could possibly fit inside your bloated brain and tightly stuffed skull. You could not possibly be feeling more right now. You could not possibly. You might collapse on top of him.</p><p>You shake like you're suddenly made of twigs and leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Day You've Had Recently

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno if I have to point this out but this is a kink fic thing so if you're not into it well... I don't know. There will be more of this. This just got very long.

You are absolutely brimming. 

Brimming with what, you're not sure. It feels like everything. You're overflowing, your whole body is filled to the very very top with everything all at once. Nothing more could possibly fit inside your bloated brain and tightly stuffed skull. You could not possibly be feeling more right now. You could not possibly. You might collapse on top of him.

You shake like you're suddenly made of twigs and leaves. 

There's just so much inside you, filling up your chest, pressing on your lungs. You don't think your body was ever meant to feel this much. It was never meant to hold all of this. It was never meant to be this full. You're overflowing. You're going to spill. You're spilling, dribbling down your cheeks, you realize. It's spilling down your cheeks in pale red beads that taste like salt and iron.

You hope he doesn't notice when they fall into his mouth. His hands are on your back. They trail down your shoulder blades, touching every muscle, and run down your spine all the way to your hips. He wraps them around to trail across the rounded sides of your swollen midsection, which hangs down just over his own abdomen. 

You are absolutely filled to the very brim. At first it was just with feeling, for the first week or so, like every possible emotion, good and bad, had crashed together into a hurricane inside you. You felt like you were going to explode with love and hate and need and want and everything was in consistent opposition. You are quite sure you're also physically filled to bursting, now, though. 

You exhale and let go of his mouth. 

Your arms are shaking. His hands find their way to your shoulders and gently push you back. He follows you as he sits you up and kisses you as you come to straddle his hips. 

The emotions were secondary, now.

You grind against him, because jesus, it's starting to hurt not to. You lean in and mash your mouth into his.

You've only ever done this a few times before. You don't know how to deal with the onslaught of feelings and the overwhelming, completely encompassing, unignorable, ever present need to touch and feel and eat and drink and move and fix this and that and be touched all over and eat absolutely everything in sight. It won't go away, it just won't go away. 

You've never produced eggs before, and it's honestly just like any other Season, but with four thousand times the hunger and bloating. 

You push yourself against him, hard, hard, hard, and you don't realize how aggressively you've been kissing him until he puts both of his hands on your face and pushes you back. 

"Okay, that's enough," he says, pulling in a deep breath of air. His mouth is covered in your awful slobber. He pushes you back further and wipes off his chin and lips. 

No it's not enough. It feels like your entire being is throbbing with how much you need more right now- but no, no, you can't push yourself on him. You know humans don't have nearly the same cycles as trolls do, or to the same extent. He's not in the same head-space you are right now. 

But you need someone to touch you. You need to be caressed and played with and for fingers to feel every inch of your feverish skin. You want hands to hold you and for your body to be pressed onto, into, anyone else's and for someone to touch you just touch you never stop touching you. Someone needs to calm every single singed nerve in your body. You need to be touched.

You're still grinding on him.

His hands come to your shoulders and they're going to trail down your body and up your face your neck touch you everywhere absolutely everywhere down your belly to your waist band unbutton your pants-

They stop there, though. He holds his hands on your shoulders, heavy and unmoving. His eyes, though you can't see them behind his shades, are staring straight at yours.

"Stop." 

What?

"I'm not here for this right now. We've been on this ravenous fuck train for three days now and I'd really like to get off."

Get off, get off, you'd love to get off you'd love to get off you'd love

"Forreal, Kat, like I understand that you're like, going through a thing right now and your weird alien bod is drunk on crazy hormones, but I'm just a simple dude and I can't be having sex forty times a week," he says. 

You whine and lay on his chest. Or, no, you try to lay down on his chest, but your belly makes that rather impossible. It presses down on him long before the rest of you can, and it doesn't have quite enough give to it to allow you to lay on your front. It will smush down a bit, but that doesn't make it more comfortable. It wasn't that big before, was it? You haven't been paying attention. 

Of course, you had been able to button your pants yesterday, albeit uncomfortably. The snap hadn't even gotten close to closing when you got up to get dressed this morning. Sweatpants were the only option. 

Whatever. Doesn't matter. It doesn't work and you roll off him to lay beside him on the bed.

"Okay, okay, okay. I'm sorry. It's just like, a few more days and then it'll stop, okay?" you say. "Just like, a couple more days of being so horny that I feel like my genitals might explode, and then it'll all be over." 

You sigh. 

"I feel like I gained twenty pounds in three days," you say, rolling onto your back. You're about as physically uncomfortable as you thought you'd be. "I'm glad you only ovulate every sweep and a half, otherwise I'd just ask you to set me on fire every time breeding season rolled around. I mean, you totally could anyway, I wouldn't be apposed, but this is making a regular season look like a fucking sucrose-sponge stroll."

"I mean, I don't wanna like, obliterate your vibe anymore than it already is, but, you kinda look like you gained twenty pounds in three days. It's kind of crazy. Are you sure this is normal? You just kind of swelled up like a fucking beach ball all of a sudden," he says, alarm on his face.

"Oh gee, thanks, bro," you spit out. "Whatever, yeah, no, this is just what happens. Like, I told you, we usually just make like a shit load of liquid genetic material for the Season."

"I know, I've experienced that mess first hand. You got a little bit of a gut with that, but this is totally in another realm," he says, his hand trailing over your mound of a stomach. You trill unintentionally at his touch. 

"Yeah," you say. "'Cause it's eggs. I told you I'd get bigger this time. I mean, I wasn't really expecting to be a fucking planetary body all of a sudden, but hey, life just likes to pull that kind of shit sometimes." 

You pull the small amount of shirt still managing to cover your abdomen up to your chest. Your skin is stretched tight over your swollen reproductive sac. They grew so fast that they left little white lightning-bolt marks in your skin. Your hand trails over the curve. 

Most of you keeps telling you that you look fucking stellar right now. You were pretty ecstatic to find that your pants wouldn't close this morning, actually. You'd been worried that you wouldn't get very big and that you'd look absolutely pathetic. Another part of you is worried that you still don't really look good enough right now. Aren't they usually much, much, bigger?

You know porn is a bad example for realistic sex and everything, and you know that no one in real life actually produces so many eggs that they can't move, especially during their first ovulation season, but you still seem awfully small in comparison.

There's also the fact that your whole body is in general far too small to be the ideal. You look too small and fragile and ugly and deformed but this is at least making up for it a little. 

But overall, you're bigger than you thought you'd be and that's pretty fantastic. 

All the eggs are blank right now. They're all just potentials, but there's so many of them, there's so much potential, they're so perfect, they're so lovely, lovely. You're so lovely. 

You nuzzle your head into Dave's shoulder and purr. You kiss him on the cheek. 

"I've still got a couple days to go, too," you say. "They're not done growing yet." 

"No. You'll like, explode if you get bigger. You're not allowed. You're grounded. The eggs are grounded," he says like he's trying not to sound nervous. 

You laugh into his neck and kiss his skin. 

"How come none of the other trolls are all full of eggs?" he asks. 

"'Cause only a third of the population does eggs every season," you say. "It rotates. Someone else is bound to be ovulating right now. Dunno who, but at least one more of us should be." 

You can't believe how loud you're buzzing. Your belly is so full and heavy and it feels so nice and warm. Someone should be touching you all over right now. You look so perfect, how could someone not be touching you? 

You kiss Dave's neck hard. He grunts.

"What if, maybe, just for now, like just while you're a goddamned hormone disaster, you could maybe, be kissing on someone else for a bit..." he suggests. 

You pause.

"You mean cheat on you..." you say. 

"No no, it wouldn't be cheating, 'cause I'd be giving you express written permission and everything. It'd be more like, you know, just, I dunno. You could just find someone else to have gross sloppy breeding season sex with," he says. 

"That's what a matesprit is supposed to be for," you say.

He groans. "Mmmyeah, but, maybe, you could, just, like, find like, a friend with benefits. Or something," he says. "Or maybe, we aren't matesprits, exactly." 

Aren't matesprits...

You'd been thinking that for a while. You're more like moirails who make out sometimes. It's a very strange relationship. You suppose you are in the human quadrant, which is not a quadrant because there is only one of them, known as "dating" and he is your "boyfriend." 

But does that leave you open to pursue a matespritship with someone else? You can't tell. You'd rather not. You rather enjoy this relationship. 

Also he's so perfect and you just want to touch him want him to touch you want to feel every inch of him want to want to fill-

OKAY SHUT UP. Okay.

You cant do this. You can behave like a goddamned person. You know how to not be an awful sex-needy shit lord. You know how to do this, you just need to stop being a shitty little wriggler about this. It's not that hard. Jesus christ.

"It's not that big a deal. I don't need a weird side-matesprit crutch thing to lean my throbbing, hormone drenched, swollen body on to deal with this. I'm not that incapable of controlling myself. Have some goddamned faith in me. Jeez." you say. 

He props himself up on his arm. 

"You keep saying that and yet here you are, making weird pathetic troll bug cat purr sex sounds and still touching me when I'm telling you not to," he says. 

You swallow and pull back from him a little, once again not realizing that you're invading his space. You scoot back so that you are no longer tempted to kiss his neck or touch his pretty brown skin or his perfect white hair or or or or-

Shut up. Shut up.

You move to the other side of the bed.

"Okay, okay, see? See, I'm not touching you from over here. It's fine. I just won't come near you. I won't touch you incessantly. I won't do anything. It'll be fine," you say. 

He grunts. His lips press together tightly. 

"Kat, I didn't just lay this suggestion out on the table all neat and pretty for you to just toss it onto the ground like a goddamned monopoly board after I got hotels on all of the fucking boardwalk, alright? Like, I'm telling you to go find someone else to have sex with for while this is happening, because I really don't want to do this anymore," he says. And then he holds his breath. He sounds so angry with you. 

You hold yours as well. 

"I just, I really like you, alright? But, I really can't handle all this touching, and I know that you aren't going to stop yourself from doing it, being I have asked you to and you haven't, and I really, really, really, need you to find someone else to get you off because I can't handle this," he almost yells. 

Your head swims for a moment in something rather hot. 

"Look, I'm trying, but it's really kind of hard, okay? Like, it's physically paining me, but, like, okay, no. No, okay, you're right. I'm sorry. I know you don't like being touched a whole lot and have a really big personal bubble and that there isn't any real reason for me to not respect that," you say.

"I will absolutely stop touching you. Like, I'll just, not be around you for the rest of this. I'll just avoid you, and get through it by myself. Like I'll... I'll lock myself in the bathroom or something, although, then you'd still have to use the bathroom sometimes so that wouldn't work... I dunno, I'll lock myself somewhere and I just won't talk to you for a couple days or so and it'll be fine. Dunno where, 'cause we share this whole tiny-ass apartment but..." 

He sighs.

"Okay. Whatever you think will help you to not be all up in my shit twenty-four hours a day," he says. "Just, make sure it happens."

He sits up and crosses his legs under him. 

"And, just to clarify, I'm still all here to help you with whatever other garbage this thing is gonna drag you through; I just need a break from sloppy makeout hell."

You nod.

"Honestly, it was kinda fun for the first day or two," he says. "I just, am really tired." 

You nod again. 

"Yeah, no, no, I understand. It's fine. It's fine," you say. "If I overstep any more boundaries, just, feel free to yell at me or whatever. We're all adults, here. I can handle it." 

He nods. "Okay, good," he says. "So for everyone's sake, please, for the love of God, cheat on me, Vantas." 

You lock yourself in the bathroom almost immediately, because you absolutely have no self control at all, and slide down the door and onto the cold tile floor. You run your hand over your belly and down to your hips and down your pants and spread your fingers over your still-throbbing nook. Your bulge is already swollen and has pushed itself halfway out. 

You rub your fingers down the exposed bit of smooth, slippery, flesh and your whole body feels like it's vibrating. You know that this is always what happens during the Season, but you swear, every single time, that you have never in your life been this painfully turned on. Every little pulse of your nook aches with emptiness. 

You need, you NEED, you absolutely fucking need, to be touched. You need to be touched. You need to be touched. 

You slip two of your fingers in your permanently saturated nook with a ridiculous amount of ease. It doesn't even really do anything, though. It doesn't help. Nothing helps.

Your bulge uncurls and wraps itself around your wrist rather desperately and you stroke it hard with your free hand. You bring yourself into a rhythm and pull your hand over your bulge, which is hugely swollen in a way you absolutely have never felt before, in time with your now three fingers taking care of your nook. 

It doesn't help much, though. You still just need to have more, somehow. You don't know what of, you just know you need more. You need something that will go deeper into your nook and something to completely encase your bulge. This just isn't working at all. 

You notice red starting to seep through your pants and pull them down to your knees. 

You get a look at yourself and you can't believe how fast you made this big of a mess. Your hands are already dripping with sticky red and you really don't think you've ever seen your bugle this swollen before. You might be just imagining it, but it seems larger than normal, and not really in a way that seems like you've grown somehow. It just seems horrendously swollen, and throbbing, and burning hot with need. Burning so hot that it hurts. Everything fucking hurts. It hurts so bad. 

You groan, but not at all out of pleasure. Just out of pure frustration with how much you fucking NEED everything. 

Your bulge slides over your belly and leaves a smear of red on the curve. You swear your whole body is inflamed. Your abdomen makes a slight gurgling noise, as it has been doing periodically for the past 15 hours or so. You might be supposed to be producing eggs, but your body is still protesting against its own sudden fullness. It's actually very, very uncomfortable. You didn't think it'd be this uncomfortable. 

Your skin stretched so tight so quick that it left an array of little white marks near your hips. It kind of hurts, actually, but so does everything else. You rub your stomach to try and sooth it, but you know that that won't help. You also just sort of love the feel of it, of how smooth and round it feels under your hand. You feel so full and perfect. You can't believe it's going to get bigger, though. You're torn between being excited by the fact that you might look as good as the ideal in-season gravid troll is supposed to, just like they describe in books and movies, and the fact that if you get any bigger you're going to be nothing but a ball of horrific pain. 

You also don't know if you can hold out on letting yourself get bigger. You know, technically, the way you're supposed to be doing this is having a troll to have sex with every single day so that the two of you can both expel your rapidly accumulating genetic material regularly so that this type of swelling doesn't occur. At least that's the "healthy" way to do it. You don't have a troll to have sex with, though. You have Dave. Which means that you have to do what you've done for the last two seasons, which is wait until the cycle ends and your body forces itself to digest everything it didn't use. 

You don't think you're going to be able to wait this one out, though. You might explode before then. You really need to get these things out. You really need to have sex with another troll. Dave was absolutely right. 

Having sex with Dave doesn't really work for you, honestly. He says you're fantastic, but he doesn't have a bulge, and although his tongue can sort of work like a small one and feels pretty nice, you've never actually come from it and probably never will. 

Which is awful. You feel awful about it, because you want to be able to be properly intimate with him and you want it to feel good and you don't want him to feel like he's failing you somehow. You've fucked everything up pretty bad the past couple days, though, and you might have made it seem that way. You really hope you didn't hurt him at any point. You keep having weird spells where you practically black out from how aggressive your hormones are being. 

You continue to fondle yourself and stroke your bulge and try to get them both to quiet down enough so that you can think. 

The bathroom is so small. You are taking up most of the floor space where you're sitting. Your feet could touch the toilet if you stretched out further. The whole apartment is small. You really don't have a lot of space to yourselves. The kitchen bedroom and living room are all one, so the bathroom is the only escape without leaving. You both eat and watch TV in the same bed you sleep in. 

Though, you haven't slept in a couple days. It's been hard to sleep. You've spent your nights either on top of Dave or in the bathroom trying to give him a break. You are both understandably exhausted.

Your whole body feels feverish. You're probably dehydrated. Also you should eat. You've expended a lot of calories. You're suddenly aware that you're thirsty and starving. 

You stare up at the faucet and your tongue passes over your dried out lips. You keep forgetting to drink. 

You pull your hands off of your crotch and try to stand up. You are very heavy, though, and your legs are shaky and the added weight on your midsection is throwing your balance off so it takes some fumbling about to get to your feet. 

You turn on the faucet with your wrists to avoid getting spunk all over the sink. The water runs and you wash your hands off first, letting the water turn pink as it flows down the drain. Once they're clean, you use the cup you use to brush your teeth and take a much needed drink. 

You stare out the small window over the toilet, which has glass like fog so no one can stare back. There is an impressionistic image of a grassy green back yard that you can see through it, though. The house you rent out of is pretty alright, even if it is small. You miss living so near open fields, though. Earth is such a densely populated place.

You think about all of the trolls who came back with you. You wonder if you could ask a single one of them right now. You'd fuck anything right now, honestly. You'd fuck the damn toilet if you thought it'd help. You just don't know if anyone would want to fuck you back. 

You know pretty much everyone is in the same position. Everyone's been forced to pair off. Everyone's in hormone hell. 

You pull your feet out of your pants, which are wrapped around your ankles, and bend down to procure your phone from your pocket. You open the lock screen and you have apparently been ignoring a lot of messages for the past couple of hours. Upon closer inspection you realize that they are all from the same person. 

Every single one of them.

In bright imperial purple.

Your problem may be solved and you don't have any real chance to think about weather or not it's a good solution. 

Your belly groans subtly and the throbbing in your nook has not lessened. Your whole body still feels like its drenched in liquid fire. You rub your poor, over-stretched abdomen. It's starting to ache like a bad cramp. You've got to get this shit out of your body. 

You scroll through your messages and try to block out anything in the, you know, logical part of your brain telling you that you should find someone else.

CA: hey kar

CA: so are you there?

CA: kar hey i just wwanna talk to ya real quick

CA: kar hey please message me back

CA: kar are you there?

CA: hey are you there?

CA: message me back wwenevver you get this

CA: hey

CA: kar i just wwanted to knoww if your free rn

CA: hey please message me back if you get this

You have a brief thought of "what if he wanted to talk to you about something else" before you remember that he is probably one of the only pathetic assholes to not pair off with someone before this excretion hit the whirling device. So there's literally nothing else he could be messaging you about.

You can't believe it's come to this.

CG: HEY, DOUCHE-LORD, HOW'S THE DESPERATION? 

Waiting for him to answer is like hell, even though it's almost immediate. 

CA: oh hey kar

CA: been tryin to talk to you all day

CA: wwhats going on?

CG: OH YOU KNOW, JUST, SITTING HERE, CONSUMED WITH THE HELL FIRES OF MY WRETCHED BIOLOGY AND TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW QUICKLY I CAN GOUGE OUT ALL OF MY ORGANS. I'M THINKIN I COULD DO IT IN UNDER TEN MINUTES. REAL CONFIDANT IN MY ABILITIES. HOW ABOUT YOU? 

CA: hmmm i dunno if i could gouge out my organs but honestly kar thats not really wwhat i wwanted to talk to you about im kinda desperate rn tbh

CG: REALLY I COULDN'T HAVE GUESSED.

CA: yeahh so you uh, you wwanna hang out? right now?

CG: DO YOU MEAN HANG OUT OR DO YOU MEAN PAIL BECAUSE I'M ONLY HERE FOR ONE OF THOSE THINGS RIGHT NOW AND FUCKING TRUST ME, MOTHERFUCKER, I DO NOT WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ANYONE RIGHT NOW.

Oh god that was the stupidest thing you've ever said in your whole life what the fuck what the FUCK-

CA: kar im dyin 

CA: fuckin please come ovver here this is the wworst thing evver 

CA: and i bet youd be real- wwait wwait wwait did you actually so youd do this?

CA: like you actually wwant to do this?

CA: arent you matesprits wwith that human assbag wwith the stupid glasses or wwere you expectin somethin more in the spades department?

CG: WHATEVER SHITTY QUADRANT YOU WANT, AMPORA. I WILL NOT CARE. I CANNOT EVEN PRETEND TO CARE. I AM DISGUSTING AND CAN GUARANTEE TO YOU THAT I AM UNREASONABLY DESPERATE RIGHT NOW AND MAY ACTUALLY LITERALLY BURST AT THE SEAMS IF WE DONT DO THIS.

CA: wwoww

CA: didnt knoww you felt that wway

CA: thats really touching kar

You can never tell if he's being sarcastic. 

CA: ok

CA: so wwhen do you wwanna do this 

CG: WHERE ARE YOU LIVING NOW?

CA: oh uh ill just send you the coordinates

Oh great he lives two hours away. You're gonna have to drive two hours in the rain with a gut full of eggs while you're hormone-drunk and painfully aroused just so that you can fuck the fish prince. God fucking dammit.

CA: but seriously kar this is really awwful for me too you knoww like it hurts

CA: i havvent been able to get off at all this wweek look at this

Oh god is he going to send you a picture- he sent you a picture.

You deduce from the picture that he has no right to complain.

CG: HAHAHA I'LL FUCKING FIGHT YOU ABOUT IT, AMPORA. I'LL FUCKING FIGHT YOU ABOUT IT AND WRECK YOUR SHIT. 

CA: wwhat

CG: HOLD ON A SEC

You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should pull your pants up before taking a picture of yourself. You aren't really sure you want to send him a picture of your own bulge, even if it would return the favor. He's going to see it later, anyway, though. 

You've never really sent anyone pictures of yourself besides Dave, though. 

You take one anyway and send it in the same manner that you'd rip off a bandaid. 

CA: oh

CA: oh 

CA: okay

CA: you

CG: YES.

CG: PLEASE FIX THIS.

CA: dont wworry i knoww exactly howw

Oh god he's an embarrassment. You decide to cut him off before he can start doing any weird pathetic flirting.

CG: LOOK, YOU LIVE A WAYS AWAY SO IT'LL PROBABLY TAKE ME A WHILE TO GET THERE. I'LL GET TO YOUR PLACE AROUND 5 PROBABLY. 

CA: yeah alright see you then kar

\---CA disconnected at [14:37]---

\---CA began trolling you at [14:37]---

CA: but wwait

CG: YEAH?

CA: youre ovulating right that not just like

CG: YEAH, THAT'S HAPPENING. 

CA: okay just makin sure 

CA: i did that last season actually it fuckin sucked ass 

CA: fuckin pain in the ass fuckin eggs

CG: YEAH, IT'S FUCKING HORRIBLE.

CA: yeah anywway see you in a bit

\---CA disconnected at [14:38]---

You sigh.

Guess that's what your evening is going to be now.

Oh God, you actually did that, though. You actually just, texted someone, specifically for sex. You just... did that. The thing. You did it.

With Eridan.

You sigh again.

You are also really, really hungry and need to figure out how to control yourself long enough to eat. You also need to be able to drive. Your hands find your nook and bulge soon enough and you begin desperately trying to at least give yourself a small amount of relief.

You think it might be like itching, though, where if you itch a rash too much it just gets itchier and spreads and gets worse. Maybe you need to stop scratching.

Only you can't stop scratching because it already itches so bad.

Your fingers stroke your nook and you shove them inside and it feels so good to have something inside of you but it just doesn't help anything. There's red dripping all down your thighs but you aren't getting anywhere at all. You're just making it worse. 

Soon. Soon you will have someone who can help and you can help them and you'll help each other and all that fun shit and it will be better. 

You wash off your hands and pull up your pants. 

Dave is eating lunch when you rejoin him. You go straight to the fridge without saying anything to him first. There really isn't anything you want to eat, though. You think you'll just buy something on the way. 

"I'm gonna go out tonight," you say, not really looking at him. You just don't want to right now. You're embarrassed and uncomfortable and feel bad and you are worried about your self control and you just can't. 

"Did you find someone?"

"Yeah."

"Who is it?"

"Just someone. I'll talk about it with you later"

You try to change into something nicer before you go. You wrestle with a pair of jeans one more time, just to see if it'll work. Despite your best effort, though, there is still an entire inch between the two clasps. 

You give up and just wear sweatpants and a sweater. 

"Alright. See ya tomorrow."

"Yeah, see ya."

On the drive there, you stop at a fast food place. Waiting in line is a very strange experience.

Every human is aware that all of the trolls in the area are going through their breeding season. People glance at you nervously when you push the door open. There are mostly humans there. Most trolls are otherwise occupied and are staying at home. There is only one troll sitting by herself in the corner.

The whole place smells disgusting and delicious at the same time, though. It's that kind of smell that you know will make you sick later but in the moment smells like everything you've ever wanted.

Trolls and humans don't usually get along, but everyone looks so nervous. They all take a few steps away from you. Even the cashier is nervous. You just order some fries and a burger and a soda to go.

The cashier hands you a cup and you go to fill it. Just as you're filling it with ice, though, you smell this awful but perfect, sickly sweet odor. It encompasses you and holds you and the dull throbbing in your nook get louder. Oh god, it smells so good. It smells like, it smells like-

"Hey, so you're really cute," she says. She's way too close to you. You can feel the heat of her body radiating onto yours. Your nostrils are completely filled with her sugar sweet smell.

"Like, really cute. Those horns are precious."

You just try to ignore her. You keep filling up the cup with ice, letting the loud rumbling of the machine and the sound of the ice cubes crashing against each other drown her out. Oh, shit, shit. You don't want that much ice. That's way too much. You dump half of it out. 

"Hey, are you listening to me? I said you're really cute."

What soda do you want? What soda do you want.

You can feel her body almost pressing against yours. Her scent is so strong. 

"Yeah, fuck off to me if you want. Go away," you say.

"Excuse me?" she says. Her teeth are sharp and crooked all the way through.

"Sorry. I told you to fuck off. Was that not clear? I can make it clearer for you," you say.

"Why don't you come hang with me, we can talk about how to make it clearer," she says. 

Why is everyone so bad at flirting? Why are you so bad at flirting? Why do people try to do this to themselves? Why is everyone an embarrassment? 

"How about I have somewhere to be and I'm not interested?" you say, pouring some random soda into your cup. Ah, fuck it's hi-c god dammit god dam-

"I dunno, you look pretty desperate to me," she says, leaning down on the counter next to you so that she is eye level with you. Her eyes glance across your body. 

In your head, you dump your gross wriggler drink on her, ruin her enormous fluffy hair and get her horns all gross and sticky, glide over to the order counter, grab your bag of trash food, and march out of the store to your car before she can even react or hurt you.

In reality, you walk away from her and, this by the way takes all of your self control, keep your drink in its cup. You almost wonder if you could say yes, though, and that maybe it would actually be a better idea than driving all the way to Ampora's. She's right here. She's interested. She's not exactly unattractive; her horns are huge and so is the rest of her.

But, you'd feel more comfortable with someone you know. 

You grab your food and ignore her all the way out the door. 

\--

After two hours of hellishly uncomfortable driving conditions, you pull up to Eridan's house, which is predictably an enormous home that overlooks a beach. 

You sit in the car and stare at it for a while before going to knock on the door. Are you really going to do this? You made it all the way here. You went through all the effort to make it here. You are having abdominal pain that will not go away otherwise. 

Speaking of which, your belly is becoming increasingly more painful. You run your hand over it a few more times, knowing that you need to just pail someone. You wish Dave could help you. 

The rain beats down hard on your wind shield. 

\--

Eridan welcomes you in enthusiastically. "Hey, Kar. Hey. How was your drive? Put your coat here. God your soaked."

He's wearing a button-down with the sleeves rolled up and it stretches only slightly over his belly. It just looks like he's eaten too much. 

His voice echos in the emptiness of the front hall. His hand rests on your shoulder as he guides you inside. He seems nervous, though. You aren't actually that wet from the rain. 

"Hey, Ampora. How's stuff been?"

"It's been alright."

"Yeah. I've been okay too."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

You leave your shoes and coat in the front hall and he takes you to the living room. You throw yourself down on his couch. 

"Hey, so, do you have anything to eat? I'm so hungry. Like, I feel like I haven't eaten in like four sweeps. It's crazy what kind of hungry I am," you say, proceeding to lie down on his couch like you own the place or like you've ever been here in your life. 

"Oh, uh, yeah, I, sure? I've got some left overs in the fridge, I suppose," he says. 

\--

You sit on his couch and eat the plate of fish and rice with unfettered enthusiasm. You shovel it into your mouth. You've don't think you've ever had food this good. 

"This is fantastic," you say with a mouth full of food. 

"Yeah. Man, you should've tried it when it was fresh. It was fantastic," he says, sitting down very close to you on the couch. "It was cooked so perfectly. It's very hard to find eel cooked just right. They don't always manage to get all the bones out." 

His thigh is touching yours. You find yourself not minding. You just want someone to touch you. 

You put more food in your mouth to try and distract yourself. You nod. "Mmyeah it's... it sure is food."

He nods. "Maybe, maybe if we go out sometime, I can take you there."

You swallow whats in your mouth and pause to think. "Yeah... Yeah, maybe." 

No.

"It's right near here. We could even go for lunch tomorrow if you want. I'll pay," he says. "You can get whatever you feel like." 

He smells that sickly sweet and that sounds like heaven and you could get so much good food, but you'd feel like you were actually cheating on Dave for a little bit more than your health. You also don't want to end up wrapped up in this sort of halfway side relationship.

"Maybe," you say.

His hand is on your knee. He smells so nice. Your nook has been throbbing this whole time, though you've been trying to ignore it. You don't want to seem too overly enthusiastic, although he hasn't been bothering with that so maybe you don't have to.

You finish what's on the plate and put it down on the coffee table. You wash it down with what's left of your glass of water to try to get any of the excess food off your teeth.

You lean against him a little more. How do you just do this and get it over with?

He wraps his arm around your waist. His hand wrests on your abdomen. 

"This just feels like it has to hurt," he says, pushing your shirt up. "Like look at this."

He spreads his whole hand over it, the purple webs between his fingers spreading wide around your stomach. You've gotten bigger since this morning, you realize. It's like a big balloon underneath your skin. Eating all that food probably didn't help the matter. You really don't think you can put this off any longer.

Your belly groans embarrassingly under his hands. 

"Yeah, it's kind of way shittier than they tell you it is."

"Yeah," he says. "I'm not going to try to uh, be modest here, Kar, but this sort of shit didn't happen to me when I ovulated. I've never seen anyone look like this. It... Seems kind of weird."

You swallow.

"Weird?"

"Yeah," he says. "Not like, not like bad weird. It's not bad. I mean, it might be bad, actually. But not like unattractive or gross, that's not what I mean, I just mean that this doesn't usually happen to people."

"It... It doesn't? I mean, I mean, I know that porn isn't a good measure, but i see it in porn sometimes," you say.

"Yeah," he says. "I didn't think it actually happened, though. All those people in porn do weird shit to exaggerate it, don't they? Like, this isn't actually expected to happen..."

"I don't fucking know," you say, somewhat nervously. "It happened. I don't really care if it's supposed to. It's here. This is the reality. If you're just gonna insult me, I'll go."

"I'm not tryin' to insult you, Kar," he says. "I'm just worryin' about your health."

"There's nothing wrong with my health," he says.

"You said it hurts, right? That can't be a good thing." 

"Yeah but whatever. Of course it hurts. I'm full of eggs."

He blinks. His eyebrows pull together. He looks away a second.

"Y-you... You are aware that... That it shouldn't be any different from a normal season? They aren't like fully formed eggs, Kar, it's just slurry that's composed of eggs instead of-"

"I fucking know that!" you insist. "I'm not fucking stupid. I didn't have my head sawed off and put back on my shoulders wrong last week. I fucking know!"

The ache in your stomach reaches an unbearable peak just then, and you double over onto yourself. You groan and try to rub out the pain. It doesn't do a single thing. It just hurts. 

"Please just fuck me. I don't even care if it's good. Just get it out," you say. 

He clenches and unclenches his fingers and chews his lip. "That.. wasn't really the kind of-"

"Ampora, I don't care. This really fucking hurts." 

"Okay," he says.

He hesitates and says very, very quietly, "You are very pitiable."

"Shut up!!"

You don't uncurl from yourself, though, even as his goes to pull off your sweatshirt. Sharp pain is shooting through your bulge as it writhes between your legs. It still feels unnaturally swollen. Your lower back hurts. All of you hurts. Your head is throbbing.

He manages to take off your sweatshirt and t-shirt at the same time without you sitting up. You burry your face in your arms. Everything hurts so much. You want to pail him, you want to touch him, every part of your body is ready so much it burns, but everything else hurts in entirely the wrong way. 

You have to do something. You don't know what you're supposed to do, but you need to need to need to do something. 

Eridan stops what he's doing and puts his hands on your shoulders. "Hey, do you... Are you sure you're okay with this?" 

"I said shut up," you say. You're crying. You're fucking crying. You're so fucking useless and stupid and pathetic and you're fucking crying you're so useless. 

You know he doesn't know what to do about this. 

You just need to pail and it'll be fine. You just need to pail and it'll be fine. You just need to pail and it'll be fine. 

You have to stop crying, then, You have to stop crying, then. 

"Can we just fucking do this?" you say. 

He doesn't say anything else. You look up when you're confidant that you don't entirely look like you're crying. He unbuttons his shirt. He tries to smile at you. 

He's doing this out of pity, which should be romantic or something.

You can see his bulge moving in his pants.

He throws his shirt on the floor. You always think his gills are neat. You'd love to see them in water, the way they'd breathe. His body is fairly muscular, although you are thinking that his belly may be more fat than genetic material. 

You lay back on the couch and very awkwardly try to scoot out of your sweat pants. You look down at your belly and you guess you didn't realize how big it was from underneath your sweatshirt. It is as big if not bigger than the standard for exaggerated porn. Your bellybutton has been inverted from how tightly packed everything under your skin is.

An ache starts to build in your belly again, rising to a climax especially around your lower regions. You grit your teeth as you kick your pants onto the floor. 

He undoes his belt buckle. HIs bulge is smaller than you expected. It's the brightest purple you've ever seen but it's only a little longer than yours in its current weirdly-swollen state. You smirk, but don't say anything. The ache in your abdomen tightens sharply and you can't afford to offend him. 

He drops his pants off the side of the couch. He cups your bulge through your boxers and massages it. You relax a little at his touch. The ache in your bulge lessens under pressure, you realize. 

You sit up and come to him, then, and prop yourself up on his lap. You push your hips against his, pressing your bulge against him. You aren't sure that you want to kiss him. He smells awfully nice, though.

You grind on him and your bulges slide together. The area between your hips becomes very wet very quickly, sticky with red and purple slime. You press your belly tight up against his abdomen, trying to get close enough to do this properly.

"Lie back," you tell him when you realize there's no helping it. "This isn't working."

"Alright," he says, easing himself back on the couch. 

You straddle his hips and grab his bulge in your hands. You realize that you've never actually pailed with anyone of your own species. You've only ever slept with Dave. You don't know what to do with his bulge other than what you do with your own.

You suppose that really doesn't matter. 

You stroke it and he groans a little. He lies back and closes his eyes and relaxes. You watch his face and you're about to relax with him when more pain shoots up your abdomen, directly from your bulge this time.

You push against him and pull your hand over and over and over his bulge and you're just glad he likes it. 

You realize you're breathing heavy. You want to take this at a reasonable pace and do foreplay and all that necessary stuff, but you also very very badly just want to be inside of him. You can feel every single beat of your heart, hot and kind of painful, in your bulge. From your experience with Dave, though, it usually takes some time to get someone ready for that, though, right? You have to wait.

You play with the outside of his nook and the base of his bulge and he likes that too. He's panting. You press one of your fingers against his folds and slowly inside. "That's, yeah, hey. Th-thanks for that"

You snort. "Yeah you're... You're welcome..."

He laughs out loud and his whole body moves with it, even to his bulge in your hand. You laugh either with him or at him or at yourself.

"I'll be sure to keep it up," you continue, still laughing. "Don't even have to tip me." 

He laughs a little more awkwardly and then moans when you move your fingers just right. It's not quite the same as Dave's, but you know what to do with your own. 

You push your bulge against his as well, and let them wrap themselves up in each other. Your hand is crushed in between your nook and his. Your whole hand is soaked in purple and red.

You just want to get inside him, though. You just want to push your bulge inside. He seems nice and turned on; everything's dripping wet. You should be able to now, right? Right?

You grab both of your bulges, as they are twisted together, and pump with your hand like they're one and it feels so good so good so good. You can't get your whole hand around them together, though. 

You push yourself against him. You want something in your nook, but most importantly, you just really really need your bulge to be inside of him. You need to, you need to. 

You can't wait anymore. He's probably fine. This is probably the lamest sex ever, but you need it, you need it, you need it, you don't care. You untwine your bulge from his and then grind it up against his nook. He moans some more and you do it again and again until your satisfied that it's fine for you to guide it inside of him.

You push into his nook and let out a little trill from your throat. Finally, finally, finally finally. You push as far into him as you can and grind with a quick and eager rhythm. 

You want his bulge inside you too you want- Oh god, oh god, your stomach hurts. It hurts, it hurts. Everything hurts. You need him inside you, you need you need you need you're going to burst you're going to burst something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong you need something you don't know what it hurts it hurts!!

You moan very loudly and it is not at all from pleasure. 

"er you okay?" Eridan mumbles. 

You don't respond. It probably just hurts because if how much you need to come. You need him inside you now, you decide.

"Please just fuck me," you say, much weaker than you'd expected. 

You adjust yourself some, lifting yourself up. 

"I need you to, please," you say, sounding grossly pathetic. 

He swallows and stares up at you and you both adjust yourselves until you are shakily holding yourself over top of his bulge. He guides it into your dripping nook with his hand and you slide down onto it. You gasp as it fills you up quick. It's bigger than you originally realized. It wasn't really out all the way when you first judged it. 

You move slowly and eventually take the entire thing.

You can feel it stretching your nook out tightly and it's perfect, perfect perfect. You trill and he trills and you're both purring and it's a mess and you think you might be sick from how good it feels and how much your belly hurts.

There's so much, so much, so much pain so much good so much perfection so much everything everything everything. You don't know how to think.

Your bulge starts to hurt. It hurts it hurts it hurts, oh god, oh god, it really fucking hurts it hurts from the inside it hurts it hurts everything hurts Eridan is moaning you think he's so loud your bulge hurts from the fucking inside. It hurts from the inside. Something's wrong. Something's wrong. 

Eridan is practically screaming and you've never been so proud of yourself he's so perfect. You aren't even looking, though. Your eyes are closed. You don't want to open them it hurts too much.

You feel something strange happen to your bulge and his nook. It hurts it hurts hurts hurts and his nook is suddenly very very tight. Too tight. Painfully tight. Something is wrong wrong wrong. There's a splitting pain at the very tip of your bulge and you feel something, you feel something come out. Something comes out. He's screaming.

"Kar, what the fuck are you doing? Kar? Karkat! Karkat what the fuck!"

You can't breathe, though. Everything has stopped. He sounds like he's under water. You've always wanted to see what his gils look like under water. You wish you could see it but you can't open your eyes. He's leaving you anyway, though. He's drifting off. Or you're drifting off. 

Something is very very wrong.

You don't know what, though. 

You want to stop. You want to stop. 

Everything is swimming in inky black. 

Suddenly your bulge is being wrenched from his nook and your whole body is slamming into the coffee table and onto the floor. Light is blinding in your eyes, 

"What happened, what's wrong what's wrong? What happened?"

"Kar, what the fuck? What the fuck did you fuckin' do to me? Karkat what the fuck?" His voice is strained and loud and it sounds like it hurts. He sounds so scared. 

"What? What, I... I don't know. I don't know. What?"

"What the fuck do you mean you don't know what the fuck do you mean you don't fucking know what the fuck are you talking about, 'you dont fucking know' what the fuck?"

You look at his face and it's streaked with purple. 

You try to push yourself up from the floor. All of you hurts, but who cares right now. 

"I don't know. What happened? What's going on?" you ask. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Whatever I did, I'm so sorry. I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

You stumble to your feet and nearly fall back over.

"I'm so sorry. Eridan, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. What happened? I'm so sorry," you say. He's just crying and so are you and you can't breathe and you don't know what you did and everything hurts everything hurts. 

"No. Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Shut up. Shut up!" He's breathing like he's just run a mile and a half from somebody's enraged lusus.

"I'm so sorry. What did I do? I don't know what I did. Please tell me what I did. I'm so sorry," you say. "Please, I don't want to hurt you. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you." 

He swallows. You reach out with your hand and he just freezes up. You look away from his face and down his naked body and his stomach is swollen up like a balloon.

You think you're going to throw up.

"What... What... did... Eridan, I'm so sorry. Eridan, I'm so so so sorry. I'm so sorry. Eridan, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," you say over and over and over again, tasting tears every time you open your mouth. 

He doesn't say anything else. 

You look down at yourself. Your own belly isn't any smaller than it was and it doesn't feel any lighter. It hurts a whole lot less, though. 

"What the fuck happened?" you ask, desperately.

"I don't know. Leave. Just leave, you, fucking, fucked up mutant, fuck-blooded... fucking, I don't even know what you are!" he says. 

You take a step back. 

"Would you just tell me what happened?"

"Get out of my hive!"

"Eridan-"

"Now!"

His fins flair and you glare at him in disbelief before gathering up your clothes, hastily throwing them onto your body and walking out of his hive into the rain to your car. You unlock the door and sit down in the driver's seat. You're shaking.

You fish the keys out of your pocket. You stare at them. You can't figure out what's happening. Your whole brain is spinning. You feel like you could pass out at any moment. Big globs of translucent red keep falling from your face into your lap and obstructing your vision. Your heart beat is in every inch of your skin and deep in your ears.

You manage to put the key in the ignition and you're not sure how. You're not sure how you manage to drive away from his hive. You know that you can't focus on where you need to go, though, and that you just drive down street after street, taking turn after turn that doesn't get you anywhere. You eventually get yourself to the parking lot of a supermarket and park there.

You lay down on the steering wheel and fucking sob like the embarrassing asshole you are. 

You lay there and you cry until you're too exhausted to keep crying. 

You don't have the energy to drive home. You don't know what to do. You want to call Dave and tell him to come get you but you have the car so that's ridiculous. You could call Kanaya, maybe. But you still have to get the car home somehow. You couldn't call Terezi. You don't want to do this in front of her or bother her. You definitely don't want to do this in front of anyone else.

Your only option is to just drive all the fucking way home like this. 

You pull your phone out. You dial Dave's number. You don't ever talk to people like that. You never make actual phone calls. You hesitate to push the call button, but eventually you do. 

It rings. And it rings and rings and rings.

"Hello?"

"Hey," you say. 

"Hey," he says. "What's going on?"

"Um, not, a lot," you say. "Look, I like, I don't know. I fucked up, I think."

He's quiet for a second. 

"Well, what's the damage? Are you alright?"

"I dunno," you say. "It feels like someone just threw me off a cliff into a ravine of flaming hoofbeast shit. Like, I am, I am deep in the shit here, I am buried alive, six-fuck-deep in the shit." 

"That sounds like you need some kind of spectacular shovel," he says. "Like the most radical shovel you've ever heard of. It probably needs to like, glow in the dark or something. Or have like, useless light-saber hand guards or something that'll like, possibly accidentally cut your hand off while you're using it. Some kind of plasma George Lucus, Disney-owned reboot, kinda shovel." 

"It might need like, a drill attachment of some kind. Something to really just wreck this fucking shit," you say shakily. 

"Some kinda crazy-nastiness that'll really obliterate it," he says. "We gotta get nuclear on that shit." 

"Yeah," you say, not able to actually think of anything to contribute. Your brain is fairly blank. "I don't really, I don't know what to do, Dave. I'm... I, really fucked up."

He's quiet again. 

"What'd you do? You're, you're okay, right? Like, you didn't, I don't know, you're okay, right?" he asks.

You swallow. Your eyes burn. 

"I don't know. I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have gone here. I shouldn't have done anything. I don't fucking know," you spill out. "I don't know. I should've just locked myself in the bathroom. I don't know what I did. I did something really bad, though. I don't know what I did. I don't know what's going on. He wouldn't tell me what happened. I don't know what happened. Somethings wrong with me. My body's fucked up and I hate it and I'm horrible and I did something to Ampora and I don't know what to do. I want to go home but I don't want to drive. I don't know." 

"Wait wait wait, back up. Rewind and slow down or something. Did you say Ampora? You went to do friends with benefits with the fish guy?" he says. "Did... Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you to go out and fuck anyone. Oh my god, Kat. I shouldn't have told you to do that. I was just-"

"No, no no, it's not your fault. I'm the one who did it. It's my fault. All of this is completely my fault. I fucked up really really bad," you say. "I get why you wanted me to. It's okay. I'm sort of glad that at least I didn't hurt you with whatever the piss-drenched hell my body just unleashed." 

"Oh god, okay..." he says. "I'm so sorry, man. Do you want like, do you want me to order a pizza? I can order a pizza. I'll tell them to put a shitload of anchovies on it."

"No, I mean. I guess? I don't know. Sure," you say. "Yeah."

"Okay, I'll get a pizza," he says. "Where are you right now?"

"Um...." You pause to remember. "I'm in Crescentport," you say.

"You went all the way to Crescentport for this?" he says. "Are you gonna be able to get home?"

"Yeah, yeah, I made a lot of real shitty mistakes today, like unimaginably shitty, like the lowest depth of shit. It's me. The ultimate excrement," you say. You sigh. "I'm probably gonna be home late but I'll get home." 

"Alright," he says. 

"I'll see you then," you say. 

"Okay," he says.

"Bye."

"Bye."

You manage to drive yourself home in a fog. You keep having to stop over and over again to get yourself together. You make it back home eventually. You're not sure how. 

You slump in the door and up the stairs to the room you rent. Your legs are made of stones. Dave greets you and he's worried and you know what he thinks happened but you have no idea what actually happened. 

You don't want any of the pizza. You don't want to eat anything. You don't ever want to eat anything again.

"I think I fucking blacked out and did something to Ampora," you blurt out in between Dave's rapid-fire attempts to make you feel better. 

He goes quiet. He looks at you. 

"Are... Are you sure?" 

"I don't know." 

You take in breath after breath and it feels like the whole room is breathing with you. 

"He was really pissed. I don't know," you say. The floor is spinning. 

"Just, come here. Sit down. You look like you're gonna pass out or something," he says, guiding you to the bed by your shoulders. You sit down. You haven't been this panicked without one of your regular PTSD triggers in sweeps.

"We were having sex and then he threw me on the floor and he told me to get out!" you say shrilly. "I don't know what happened at all. I don't fucking know what happened. He wouldn't tell me!"

"It's okay. It's okay," he says, rubbing your back. "You're okay. It'll get sorted out. We'll sort out what happened, but for now, all you need to do, is take a deep breath."

"No. No, I...." you try to collect yourself. "I fucking... My body's doing something weird. I'm not having a normal season. Something's wrong with me. Ampora's gonna have me culled, probably." 

"No he's not. They don't do cullings here," he assures you. "Bro, you're gonna be alright. You're gonna be okay." 

He pulls you into his chest and he pets your hair. 

"I'm sorry this happened to you, man. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I threw you into this disaster," he says.

"It's okay. I needed to have sex with another troll. This, just, I don't know. This just, went very badly." 

You both end up laying down on the bed wrapped in a blanket together. The TV is still on from whatever Dave was watching. You both watch it half heartedly; you just sort of stare through the screen. You fall asleep in his arms a few hours later, but it's almost purely out of being too stressed to be awake anymore.


End file.
